Fiending
by Lucy Fell
Summary: (SamXReader - TRIPLE? OneShot) You were being hunted, might as well use your whole bag of tricks to send your soul into the afterlife with good last memories. Might as well fulfill your own fantasy. And right now he was 6'5" of intoxication and just waiting for you to fill his head with dirty little thoughts of you. [Reader is telepathic] (rating changed to M for the sexy reason)
1. 1

Three drinks to try and forget that you're being hunted, just three and you'll be on your way. That's what you try to tell yourself as you stand at the bar waiting to make another order, just one more, just three and you'll be able to sleep tonight. Maybe, maybe if you get the chance. Maybe, if they don't find you a string you up like you heard they do to people with afflictions like yours. Af-flic-tion, you pronounce the word in your head over and over as if it will give you some peace of mind, as if you can tell yourself that it's the disease that's eating at you, it's the disease that's making you do these things to people. But it's not, it's really _really_ not, it's just a game, and it's **fun**.

You get really tired of just standing there waiting for the bartender to notice you, so you decide to (once again) use your natural "affliction" to your benefit. You close your eyes just briefly to imagine yourself standing at the bar, hip popped, lips curved into a smirk. You imagine yourself saying, "Maybe we should get out of here." and then winking to add effect. When you open your eyes you push the thought out of your head and send it across the room. Watching as he quickly grabbed two beers for the men who had just walked in, then hurry over to you. Maybe he can see the manipulative gleam in your eye, or maybe he just assumes that you're fulfilling his fantasy, but he barely bats an eye when you ask for two more Jack and Cokes. Two more, just two. Just four to forget.

You had almost forgot, for a moment, that they were after you. Not just you, you and your best friend. And you keep trying to forget that you only have yourself to blame, by doing things like this. By taking advantage of people, by having just _way_ too much fun. You found your best friend, your partner in crime, a few months back. And since then everything had turned to chaos. Not too sure who to blame, not sure who was the first one to say, "Let's rob a bank," or, "Let's get this guy to give us his car," or, "Let's destroy for the fun of it." But you brought out the best in each other, you'd say. Though other's, I'm sure, would say you'd only made each other worse.

But really what it was, you were born with what could be a curse, what had been, and you'd been trying to smile through it, and found someone to smile through it with. For just two more beers, maybe just one more night.

Your friend looked at you when you got back to the table, head slightly cocked and eyebrows raised, "Uhhh, Y/N ?"

You brought your head back in feigned surprise, "Bitch, you know they're both for me."

She laughed lightly, her mouth forming a silent ' _Oh_ ', before rolling her eyes, and herself out of the booth to get her own refill.

You guess it would have been polite if you'd gotten her another, but honestly, it just didn't come to your mind. There was already too much there, gnawing and eating away at you. Sometimes you wished that there was an escape, that your ability to channel minds was a two way street; that you could just sit back and relax and listen to someone else's thoughts the way you could force them to see yours.

Finding yourself spiraling into loops of one bad thought after another, you look around the bar for your friend. Finding her using her own 'God' given talents, by shifting her body into one that was more ass-thetic, trying her own hand at getting the busy barkeeps attention. You notice, though, that's not the only attention she's attracting. The two men that entered a few minutes ago are conversing amongst each other, with both sets of eyes dancing over her figure, obviously talking about what they'd like to do to her. You giggle to yourself, unable to help it, men are just _too_ easy, aren't they? You give them a little taste of just exactly what they want and they forget about every other ideology they might have.

Apparently she notices too, because she's got her glass in her hand and she's moving quickly to the other side of the bar. You sigh heavily, although amused by her actions, still very bored yourself. You decide, maybe you should join her. There are two of them, after all. There's no need for checking yourself when you can project images and thoughts into people's heads, there's really no need to worry that you'll ever go home alone. It's a strange line to find yourself dancing on, but goddamn do you love to move your hips to the beat of this game.

Your friend takes your hand graciously, as if she knows your coming (she does, you 'warned' her), and introduces you to the men she's been chatting up. "Dean," she raises her hand to touch the side of the shorter one's neck just slightly with the outside of her fingernails, subtly making claims before nodding her head over to the other guy, "and Sam."

You bit your lip playfully, not sure if she was taking what she wanted or giving you what you wanted. Because _shit_ he was your type. Almost too tall, broad chest, long brown hair, and eyes that had the devil in them. It actually sort of surprised you that you didn't come over here first. You definitely saw them walk in, but you didn't seem to care much, then. How could you not have noticed this opportunity waving itself in front of you? But now the question was, how could you help yourself? When you could have any man you wanted, and tonight your game was **him**. "Sam, I'm Y/N ," you say, ignoring Dean without meaning to, and holding out your drink for a cheers instead of a handshake, "To the night!" You shout, clinking with the rest of your party and downing your whole drink, ready to forget that you were, in fact, being hunted for the kill. And completely aware that this could be your last night at the party in this perception, so fuck it. Fuck your five drink minimum and fuck giving a shit for the first time in years, right before it wouldn't matter anymore.

Might as well burn yourself so damn hot you scorch the earth on your way out. Might as well feed the flame, might as well use your whole bag of tricks to send your soul into the afterlife with good last memories. Might as well fulfill your own fantasy. And right now he was 6'5" of intoxication and just waiting for you to fill his head with dirty little thoughts of you. The hunger in his eyes was one you recognized, and you knew you didn't really _have_ to fuck with him to get him to bed. There were certain benefits, sure, you could gauge his reactions to certain things, but really, what it really was, is that old habits die hard and you know that you could just make him _ache_ for you.


	2. 2

About an hour had gone by, an hour and you were 3 drinks past your 5 drink minimum. Starting to play a little more rough with tall dark and handsome's inner monologue. At first it had been more subtle, just some light moaning from inside his melon. Every time he leaned down to you, trying to help line up your shot in a friendly game of pool, you'd pulse waves of moaning his name. And every time you could feel his muscles stiffen and shutter against your back. The effect you were having on him was more extreme than even you had anticipated. You were playing nicely, and still that devil in his eye looked like he would devour you.

So you decided to up the ante, why not? After all, what's a last night on earth supposed to be for? It was your friends turn up to the shot, and you watched as Dean leaned back to take a good look, instead of helping her stroke. Moving your eyes across the room, you see Sam saunter off into the restroom. Now's your chance, so you prepare a fantasy you have on file, for times just like this.

Closing your eyes, you take another sip from the Jack and Coke (that really only tasted like Coke at this point), and licked your lips preparing yourself. The trouble with this kind of telepathy is that you feel it too. Sending the vibration through the air, you need to vibrate on that level first. So everything that you think, everything that Sam is about to feel, you'll feel too. You'll feel it burning up your cheeks, and heating your center. Your whole body turns to fire while images flash behind your eyelids.

 _He grabs your hair away from your face gingerly before pushing back in again. Down your throat, you imagine his cock is as big as his body gives away. There's tension on the sides of your lips even though your mouth is as slack as possible. Letting him drive in and out of you, doing all the work as you concentrate on not gagging too much. You look up in his eyes as he pulls out again, all the way this time, pulling your head back by the firm grasp in your hair. He holds himself at the base and smacks your outstretched tongue a few times before fucking your cheek, being able to see the entire outline of his head inside your cute little mouth. And he's driving back into you again, hard and fast_ and you want to imagine the filthy things that might come out of his mouth too, but you're edging off the end of your seat, and you don't think your own body could handle much more.

The thought is quicker than it felt in your head, and Sam's already coming out of the bathroom. You were trying to give him a little privacy after this, _god_ he'd need it, but this was better. You liked to watch as they squirmed in their skin, slipping between uncomfortable and too comfortable. You blew him a kiss as his eyes made contact with yours, and you immediately saw them turn hungry. Hungrier. This was the thrill, this was what turned you on the most. Taking a man's desire and amp-li-fying it to an almost tangible day dream, one that would only briefly appear, but would reverberate into his subconscious for hours.

Hungry dancing devil eyes prey on you as he moves across the room, you can almost feel his desire, can almost see how he's finishing you off in his head, but it's fuzzy and it's only heat with no pictures. This wasn't a two way street, but you could still taste his want for you as he got closer. Some men had that ability, some men could exude their sexual dominance. You couldn't help flushing even more red, maybe because he was close enough to touch now, or maybe because you could see him trying to project his fantasies onto you. His breathe nearly close enough to brush against you, and his left hand sharply gripped at your bare thigh, forcing a dry moan out of the back of your throat. Staying stagnant before it hit your teeth, you tried to suck it back in but when you looked from his hand to his eyes again they were hungrier still. Dark and deep and menacing, and you knew he heard it. He flexed his jaw tightly, narrowing his eyebrows, "Let's **go**."

It lingers in your head, as you follow the tall figure out of the door, that he didn't ask you. He didn't ask, he just told you what to do. You felt yourself melting way down deep, and _fuck_ if you're not half scared out of your mind, but isn't that the best part? And hey, if he was the crazy serial killer type, at least those hunters wouldn't get the satisfaction.


End file.
